


Stolen

by zauberer_sirin



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-02-20
Updated: 2006-02-20
Packaged: 2017-10-24 20:27:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/267548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zauberer_sirin/pseuds/zauberer_sirin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pre-series, after Ishval.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stolen

Some days the whole city seems to share their secret.

Sometimes they take a walk together -brushing shoulders, arms, hands, fingers, fleetingly, cautious to look casual- and they feel as if they were being watched, whispered at, smiled at. East is a small city, after all, and sometimes Roy forgets everything but how to put his hand on the hollow of her back, gently pushing when they enter a room, and sometimes Hawkeye just smiles in a way that doesn´t fit with the uniform.

They are not careless, but they are not scared; these are days of stolen kisses, of bathroom sex, of private glances, private meanings, a new, invented, untranslatable language of two. She would press herself against him between the rows of the small, lonely library; he would smell her hair whenever he bends to read a report over her shoulder, he remembers that brand of soap; they would sometimes leave the building together, but they would never arrive together the next morning.

Hawkeye would turn a corner and she would hear Roy say _here, here, look over here_ , and he is behind a half-open door, drawing her, taking her by the wrist, and they kiss in some empty storage room, blue over raw skin, touching each other with an urgency that tells them there´s still Ishval sand on their bodies.

They are isolated; Hughes is in Central, they have no friends, she has some relatives she never visits, and Roy has no subordinates yet. He plays chess once or twice a week with a couple of young officers.

They work too much, they sleep too little.

They are too young, but they have scars instead of wounds, and their love is ancient and new.

"We should get married," Roy says one day, laying in bed, sheets pulled down and in disarray, sheets twisted around their ankles, the blinds half-pulled, a time of the day when no married couple should be having sex, a time stolen from the outside world, clock-stopping time, slowly breathing in and breathing out time.

And Roy says this, out of the blue, out of character and out of context. Hawkeye looks at him, half-surprised, half-alarmed, eyes half-closed, sleepy from the post-orgasm lull.

"What?"

"Just imagine it. Nobody would know," he looks at the ceiling, the sky is broader when they lie together like this. "We could wear our rings around the neck, pressed to our hearts."

Hawkeye looks at him, intent, narrowed eyes, he still looks up up always up and has a dreamy expression, and a sad smile. The shortest distance is from the heart to the fingertips, and Hawkeye touches his chin, pushes, makes him turn. She stretches -rustling of sheets, the chains of sheets twisting around her leg, the breaking of an early afternoon silence, yellow silence- and kisses him softly along the line of his jaw.

Then she whispers into his mouth, as if she didn´t want the rest of him to hear, _i already wear your ring around my neck, it´s always pressed to my heart_.


End file.
